I wish I had known my goodbye to my family would be my last.

I check my pack to make sure I have everything I need. It will be a two-day trek to the neighboring town's market in Braken, where I often barter anything I deem remotely valuable.

My spirits are high. It's finally the start of spring, after an unusually long and brutal winter. The ground -and my bones- have begun to thaw after what seemed like an eternity of shivering and stiffness in my joints. I inhale deeply and I can smell new life in the air. The morning sun shoots light through the forest surrounding our cottage as if the canopy is composed of fractured glass. As I finish tying my boots, my three young sisters surround me, grinning wildly and giggling. The older two start talking loudly at the same time, so I can't understand a word.

"Girls, slow down," I scold but with humor and a smile playing on my lips. "One at a time, please."

All three girls giggle and the oldest, Jozlynn, hands me something. She's uncharacteristically gentle as she places the crown of twigs in my hands. "We made it for you. You can sell it at the market!" She bounces on the balls of her feet like a grasshopper, beaming at me, waiting for her praise. She had turned eight during the dead of winter, and is now old enough to understand the importance of these journeys I took once a month during the warmer seasons, but too young to understand how they actually worked.

I smile at her, touched and warmed by her innocence that I would die to protect. "Thank you so much! You made this? I'm impressed," I tell her. And it's true. She rarely has the focus or stillness for something so delicate. She bobs her head in response, her wild, golden curls bouncing with her as she gives me a smile so big and bright that I feel my heart thaw with my bones. "Well, I'm sure I can fetch a couple coppers for this. Thank you so much!" I feel a twinge of guilt as I lie to her, knowing that this simple, useless crown has no value to anyone but me.

The youngest, Avalynn, tugs at my cloak. I try to hide my surprise at this, since she typically does everything she can to avoid human interaction. I bend down. She is already three, but rarely talks. Mother often refers to her as dim, but I know better. I'm convinced that Ava could speak volumes if she felt like it. I see her mind hard at work constantly, and sometimes the way she's so independent startles me. I keep it to myself, but I'm pretty sure she was just too busy thinking and avoiding people to bother talking. Her right hand is closed in a soft fist and she taps my wrist with her other hand. I place Jozlynn's crown on my head, flash her a grin, and hold out my calloused hands to little Ava. She turns her fist over and drops something into my cupped hands. I feel a sharp sting and gasp in pain as I look down in shock at the small lizard in my hand. I attempt to shake it off of me but its mouth remains clamped down on my palm. My sharp inhale results in hiss.

Avalynn scowls at me and reaches for the lizard. Before she even touches it, the grey, scaly pest releases its grip and scurries back into Ava's hands. She bops it on the nose with a gentle, yet firm tap of her finger.

"Ava! Be careful! I don't think he wants to be held. He'll bite you!" But she only sneers at me with the face I have grown accustomed to over the last few months, but that still unnerves me. As her scowl deepens, her eyes become eerily dark- something I can't help but find her eyes disturbing, paired with her exceptionally pale skin and sunny blond hair. I try to shake off the pin pricks on my skin that I always get when she looks at me like this as I reach to take back the aggressive lizard. But spins in a slow circle before it curls up in her hands and falls asleep. I frown at it and look at the red welt the lizard left on my palm and say, "Just... be careful with that thing Avalynn." I wait for her to acknowledge me, knowing that she won't. She holds my gaze with those chilling dark eyes until I look away. I swear I see her smirk out of the corner of my eyes as she stalks off to the corner where she likes to spend most of her time. Careful not to disturb the dozing reptile in her hands, she sits on the floor with her knees pushed up to her chest. She gingerly runs a finger over and over down the back of the lizard. With every stroke of her finger, her disposition gradually shifts to one of contentment and the unease in the pit of my stomach slowly begins to fade. I shake my head to myself, then look at Jozlynn, who has ceased her bouncing and is tugging at one of her golden curls, like she does when she's anxious. I meet her eyes and we share an understanding the other two are too young to participate in as I instruct, "Don't let mother see Ava with that. She'll be... upset." Jozlynn nods and I am again hit with a page of sorrow and guilt for her. I know her heart is slowly breaking and turning to stone the more she sees how unloving and erratic Mother is. I'm not ready for the unbridled joy that envelops her to dissipate.

My darkening disposition is interrupted as a stifled whimper draws my attention. I had nearly forgotten about Desaevia, the five-year-old who looks the least like the rest of us. Every free moment she spent outside, resulting in skin darker than my sisters and I. Her hair is short and dark brown, even darker than my own. Her chocolate eyes seem limitless, full of intelligence, and I sense warmth in them almost every time I look at her. But as I turn my focus to her, her bottom lip trembles and I can tell she's about to cry. I kneel down, embrace her soft, rosy cheeks, and nuzzle her face with mine as I endearingly say, "Don't cry, Desaevia. What's wrong?" I pull her back at arm's length and tenderly brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. She takes a deep, shaky breath and clenches her fists as she tries to soothe herself.

She stammers before she takes another breath and finally spews a maelstrom of worry over me, her words tumbling over themselves. "I didn't get you anything and I'm going to miss you and I won't see you for a very very long time and you're going to be so sad for a long time and I'm going to be sad for a long time and I know you are going to go but I don't want you to go and I'm going to miss you even when you lose me and I don't want you to be lost but you're going to be lost and sad and I hate it."

I squeeze her tight and smile at her. Her worries are nothing new to me. "I'm going to miss you too. So so so so much." With every 'so' I poke her belly until she giggles. "But I won't even be gone a week. I'll be back before you know it."

At this, she frowns and furrows her brow. "No, you won't," she whispered.

I open my mouth to argue, but never get my chance because just then our mother enters the room and barks at me. "Why are you still here? You were supposed to leave at first light!" Her shrieking, a sound I have become unwillingly accustomed too, pierces my ears, and I'm flooded with disdain and irritation.

"I was just saying goodbye. I'm leaving now." I stand up and secure my pack as I turn towards the door.

She screeches again, "Azraiana! Your necklace! You can't forget your necklace!" I roll my eyes and take the necklace off the hook by the door. I hate it. It isn't just ridiculously ugly, but I can swear the thick iron chain oozes an odor. I had tried scrubbing and soaking the sulfurous, revolting accessory and I once even tried to burn it, but I can never get rid of the smell that scorches my nostrils. As I put the monstrosity around my neck, Mother instantly relaxes. I reach for the handle of the door, but Mother snatches my wrist with a grasp as steadfast and unyielding as heavy, hideous ornament around my neck, and grips so hard that my wrist pops, and I know it will bruise. I glare at her with a look that usually sparks her surrender and I struggle to yank my arm out of her clutches. She's a small, frail, underweight woman, so I'm taken aback when she won't ease her grasp as she gets within two inches of my face and hisses, "Don't take it off. No matter what. Do not sell it. Do not remove that necklace."

I don't bother asking why. We've had this conversation more times than I can count. She says it's a protector. And she promises that 'hell will rain down upon us all' if I ever take it off outside of our cottage. I don't argue, and I just nod. Never putting any stock into her manic, chaotic ramblings, I resent her. She has the most ridiculous rules and restrictions in place for my sisters and I, and we've become outsiders in our small, impoverished village. But I don't blatantly disobey her anymore, knowing the raging tantrum it brings isn't worth it. She stares at me for another moment with something wild and crazed in her eyes before she releases her grip on my arm.

I open the door and rub my wrist. Neglecting to even take a heartbeat to enjoy the morning spring air, I leave my cottage for the last time.